but you make a liar out of me
by onlywordsnow
Summary: nothing is as it should be and she's falling apart at the seams


She presents him with conversation about modern art; he doesn't bother pretending to be interested. She ignores the venom in his tone, the one dripping with disgust as he tells her that he doesn't have time to discuss art. She thinks she can pretend just a while longer that her dreams are his dreams. After all, she's a master at the art of lying.

She's lying when she tells herself that she's the happiest she's ever been, that she's lucky he took her back.

Chuck Bass spats his own name like it's venom and it makes her quiver every time. She doesn't feel safe anymore, like he won't hurt her, like he thinks she deserves to accomplish her dreams; she can't even remember her dreams anymore anyway. They got lost somewhere between telling Chuck she would fight for him and putting her chips all in.

He takes her for granted, that is if he's even paying any attention to her at all. He calls her a whore, trash for sleeping with the boy from Brooklyn, tells her that she doesn't deserve him and she should be grateful that he lets her sleep beneath his three thousand dollar sheets. Of course, that's right before he slips out of the bed to fuck an actual whore.

She wants to leave him because she can't breathe but she can't because she gave it all up for him. Because, because, because. Because he's making a liar out of her.

It isn't funny anymore. Maybe she deserves it, but it hurts so damn much. She lets her shoulders fall a little more, accepting each metaphorical lash as they come because she gave up everything to be with him. She's lost it all - every little hope and dream - and there's nothing left.

Not even peace and understanding.

That's the thing about Chuck Bass, he never really understands and never really has. Except, now he tells her that he couldn't iimagine marrying a woman like her, used up and found in a Brooklyn ally/i. She thinks he doesn't understand half of it but she can't find the words to even begin explaining it to him. She's afraid that if she did try, he'd just call her stupid or naive.

She can't help but compare what she now has with Chuck to what she had with Dan. She thinks she's a fool for pretending that this was worth losing the way she felt safe, loved, or pure, unadulturated happiness. She vows not to shed a tear over her decisions made; she breaks the promise to herself every night when she's alone, again.

She retreats to the bathroom, expels the contents of her stomach, and dials that oh so familiar number. She never hits the call button. She doesn't know what she would say to him. She doesn't know that he'd care.

She misses the days that it was simple, pure.

-

She no longer has any worth. Sometimes when she looks in the mirror, she can't even recall her own name. When her phone rings, she hesitates to pick it up, fears that unhappiness or disdain or regret will be heard in her voice; her greeting wavers off of her lips but she pretends that it doesn't exist.

It's only 6 months after her torrid affair with Chuck sparked again that her mother shows up unannounced to check on the company. Her unexpected arrival plants an anxiety within Blair that drives her to tears which she can't hide. Eleanor is anything but pleased and immediately reminds her that she can take the company back at any given time.

"Take it," Blair replies shakily, voice barely above a whisper, "take it all. I don't want it."

She's surprised when her mother acknowledges that it's bigger than the company, remarks about her eating habits and how they probably aren't up to par. She sees her own reflection in the mirror, mother standing behind her with quirked eyebrow, and she can't stand the sight anymore. She pushes passed her mother and locks the bathroom door behind her.

As the bile crawls up the back of her throat, stomach muscles clenching in an effort to keep it all down because it's desperate for nutrition, she feels tears slide down her cheeks. She's lost everything and now she's losing herself, what little bit she has left. If she ever had any dignity at all. She has no self-worth, it was all just a lie; she should have known better than to believe herself.

Her mother firmly knocks on the door; Blair doesn't come out for hours.

-

When they were little, Serena would say iliar, liar, pants on fire/i and she'd counter with itakes one to know one/i, but she doesn't have that luxury now that Serena isn't her friend anymore.

She's only staring at herself in the mirror.

She paints a smile on her face to seal the facade.

-

Chuck touches her, fingers digging so hard that it leaves bruises on her skin and she smiles slyly when asked and says, "a lady never tells," but it really isn't like that at all. She bruises easier now, doesn't bother telling him because she silently hopes that one day someone will call her on her shit. No one ever does.

She wonders if it's because she's Blair Waldorf or if it's because he's iChuck Bass/i.

She supposes that it doesn't really matter either way and pretends that she doesn't notice Dorota hovering. She feels alone even when Dorota watches her every move. She feels dead when Dorota isn't there at all.

She misses a lot of things when she is between Chuck's sheets - the way Dorota's tongue rolls against her teeth when bursting into the room to wake her up in the morning, the way Dan's fingertips used to curl into her hair just moments before he'd press his warm lips against hers, and the way Serena's eyes would smile from across the table over breakfast. Those things don't matter anymore. At least, that's what she tells herself.

She thinks she's beginning to believe it.

Days pass by, maybe weeks or months, and Serena shows up in the foyer. Blair struggles with wrapping her arms around her, pulling her into a hug and telling her how much she's missed her in whispers, and gruffly telling her to get out because she never wants to see her face again. Instead, she doesn't say anything at all. She just tightens her lips, silently encouraging Serena to say something.

Serena's never understood the things that aren't said, so they are at a stalemate. Thankfully, Chuck shows up and whisks her away. She gladly leaves Dorota with ushering Serena out. It's the first time in months, maybe years, she's relieved to see Chuck.

He takes her to lunch, a nice restaurant. He tries to have polite conversation, but never about topics that interest her. She's just smiling and nodding.

Finally, he stops talking, furrows his eyebrows and says, "Am I boring you?"

She smiles tightly and shakes her head.

"Good, because I had plenty of other lunch invites. You should feel lucky I chose you," he adds, curtly.

She doesn't make it all the way through lunch before the contents of the food end up in the toilet. She thinks patrons overhear. She honestly doesn't care anymore.

She doesn't have anything she cares about. She can't eat, can't sleep, and all of her demons are haunting her. She didn't understand the value of the choice she made, choosing whose love was greater.

Before she goes to bed that night, she dials that familiar number again. This time she hits call. The phone rings twice. She doesn't give him an opportunity to answer.

Staying awake is harder. Chuck is on a business trip. Serena's been calling. She's just lonely enough that on the 40th phone call she answers, tells Serena to come over and they will talk.

She makes it to the bottom of the stairs and wavers in her stance, doesn't have the energy to move any further. She releases a shaky breath and hits the floor. The floor is cold, touching her skin and making her shiver.

She wants to move but she can't. So she just lays there, waiting because someone will find her. Right?

She can feel Serena trying to shake her awake, and she blinks in return but she can't move.

Eventually, Serena's voice echoes in the back of her mind: ithe ambulance will be here soon./i

When she opens her eyes, the first face she sees is Dan's; the first word she thinks of is hope. 


End file.
